The sky outside is dimming, the townsfolk closing up their shops or finishing their days, going to their homes while you are stuck behind the counter of the local tavern and inn. The out of towners - often adventures or merchants not realizing that this town doesn't offer much, pile up the inside. There's a large table in the back, gambling away whatever they have, the towns local drunk sits at the bar with their face pressed to the cold wood, wood that is cracked and has had to be reshined multiple times due to the cold, wet beers and other drinks that get slammed and set on it. The tavern is an old place, several of the rooms have to be closed during the winter months, and half the horse stalls have to be fixed. It's boring, dull even. The same day every day. Eventually the travelers will stumble upstairs and crash on a rickety old bed then complain about it in the morning.

The double doors of the tavern open, a short cloaked figure walks in, probably a halfling, and makes a beeline for the bar, having to hop up to actually sit on the barstool. Pale hands reach up and tug the hood of the cloak down, green hair, pointed ears, and big red eyes look at you before she smiles, full of sharp, pointed, teeth. "Get me a glass of whatever ale you have." The fairy looks behind her, eyeing up the large group betting their gold and valuables before turning back to you. "That is, if they haven't drank all of it already."